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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26307937">Too Much to Ask</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/track_04/pseuds/track_04'>track_04</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blow Jobs, First Time, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:15:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,468</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26307937</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/track_04/pseuds/track_04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Carver returns from the Deep Roads to find Stroud at camp, waiting for him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Carver Hawke/Jean-Marc Stroud</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Black Emporium 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Too Much to Ask</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kauri/gifts">Kauri</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A treat, because you have excellent taste in pairings! :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was a thin line of smoke rising above the treeline, a pale white trail that pointed the way to Carver’s intended campsite, marking its location even from a distance.</p><p>Carver had fully expected it to be empty; everyone who'd gone with him was dead in the Deep Roads with the exception of Nathaniel, who had stayed behind in Kirkwall. There shouldn't have been anyone around to use it other than himself, and yet here he was, making his way down the slope of one of the foothills and into the trees as quietly as he could manage, hoping that whoever had decided to settle in for the night was a fellow warden and not one of the groups of bandits or Tal-Vashoth known to roam the area.</p><p>He stopped just before the edge of the trees, crouching low so his silhouette couldn't be seen from a distance, tired enough after the trek from Kirkwall that his efforts at caution were half-hearted at best. The choice between having to risk a fight with an unknown number of potentially armed enemies or seeking out somewhere else to sleep was making him cross, and he scowled at the nearest tree. Just his luck to survive weeks underground, hordes of darkspawn, and a surprise visit with his sister only to have to deal with this. </p><p>The woods around him were quiet, the only sounds beside his breathing the chattering of birds and a far-off clattering of metal that he sincerely hoped wasn’t weaponry. He decided it was worth risking a run-in with bandits if it meant he didn’t have to find somewhere else to sleep for the night and he rose, making his way into the woods, taking a slightly more roundabout path than usual. It put a small rock outcropping to one side of him, affording him some small measure of protection, and he was glad to have one less thing to worry about.</p><p>He could smell woodsmoke and roasting meat as he approached the camp, the vague clang of metal resolving itself into the sound of a spoon against the side of a pot. His shoulders relaxed a little as he stopped just out of sight, waiting until he caught sight of a familiar figure next to the fire to step into the clearing.</p><p>"Didn't anyone tell you it's not safe to be out here by yourself?"</p><p>"I could say the same to you." Stroud looked unsurprised to see him, his hand not faltering as finished stirring whatever he had bubbling over the fire. "I suppose it's lucky that I wasn't a group of bandits lying in wait."</p><p>"I can handle bandits." Carver's lips thinned slightly, the prickly part of him that he could never quite manage to completely quiet bristling at the implications. "And you'd have to have been the quietest group of bandits I've ever encountered."</p><p>Stroud hooked the spoon into a rest on the edge of the pot and turned to look at him; he'd shed his gauntlets at some point and the scars from half a lifetime fighting darkspawn were visible across the backs of his hands. "There are bandits who know how to be quiet."</p><p>"Not while they're at camp in the middle of bloody nowhere." Carver waved a hand at Stroud's shield and sword, propped up against the nearby tree and reflecting the firelight. "And maybe you shouldn't be worrying about me not being cautious enough when those are likely visible halfway to Denerim, sitting there like that. You would have ripped me a new one if I'd done that, Warden."</p><p>Stroud's moustache twitched, hiding any hint of smile or frown that might lie beneath it. "I think they would both need to be a bit more polished to be seen quite that far, but you may have a point."</p><p>Carver deflated a little, too tired to fight something so close to agreement. He made a point to get in one last glare before he took a seat next to the fire anyway, the anger draining out of him as soon as he was off his feet. </p><p>Six years as a warden, and he still hadn't completely quelled his need to take his bad moods out on whoever had the misfortune of being nearest to him. Or cured his inability to look Stroud in the eye when he knew he was acting like a tit. </p><p>"Sorry."</p><p>Stroud picked up a stick to stir the fire. If it were anyone else, Carver would have called it a nervous tic, but because it was Stroud, it meant that the fire actually needed stirring. "Temmerin told me you ran into some difficulties."</p><p>"That's one way of saying the tunnels were full of bloody darkspawn and I barely managed to make it back out again." Carver kept his eyes fixed on the fire and frowned. "I'm surprised he managed to find you all the way out here."</p><p> "I was using the camp closer to the entrance to the Thaig. I only moved here a few days ago."</p><p>"Days? Were you checking up on me?" Carver turned to look at him finally. "You know I haven't been a recruit for years. I don’t need looking after."</p><p>"I'm aware."</p><p>"Nathaniel's in Kirkwall," he said, letting the absence of comment on his now-dead companions speak for itself. "His sister seemed glad to see him."</p><p>Stroud hummed thoughtfully, laying the stick aside and turning to watch the fire. There was a certainty in the way he sat, a reassuring stillness in his limbs, guilty of none of the restless fidgeting that Carver defaulted to in moments of inactivity. "He'll be happy to see her."</p><p>"I saw Marian," Carver blurted out before the question could be raised. He frowned at the blunt, stumbling awkwardness of it and let out a heavy sigh.  "In the Deep Roads."</p><p> "I take it that wasn't a coincidence."</p><p>"Nathaniel's sister got worried and asked the Champion of Kirkwall for help finding him." A hint of the old bitterness was there in his voice, almost too weak to be noticeable. Or at least Carver hoped that was the case.</p><p>"Lucky that she found someone who'd been there before."</p><p>"Yeah." Carver swallowed, the bitterness a faint ache in the back of his throat, a reminder of a poorly-healed injury, like the twinges he got in his shoulder before a storm. "I should have known she'd be there. She couldn't ever leave me to do anything on my own."</p><p>Stroud’s gaze was thoughtful. "I'm sure she was pleased to see you."</p><p>"Yes, she did a good job of showing it, too. Acted like a judgmental ass, just like old times."</p><p>"I daresay she's saying the same about you."</p><p>Carver opened his mouth to argue on reflex and stopped, letting out a soft, startled laugh instead. "It's pretty much guaranteed."</p><p>Stroud smiled just enough for Carver to see and turned, rummaging through a nearby pack and pulling out a set of bowls. He filled one from the pot over the fire and offered it to Carver, followed by a dull, dented spoon.  "I'd suggest eating before it gets cold and becomes completely unpalatable."</p><p>"Thanks. It looks good.”</p><p>"You may not be saying that after you try it." </p><p>"Trust me, it's amazing," Carver said, digging in with the enthusiasm of someone who'd spent the better part of a month living on deep mushrooms prepared six different ways, each more unimaginative than the last.</p><p>"I stand corrected." Stroud filled a bowl for himself, taking his time and letting the silence settle back around them. </p><p>Beside him, Carver ate and didn't try to stop the lazy drifting of his thoughts, not bothering to land on any one in particular. It was a nice change, not having to worry about darkspawn or red lyrium or anything beyond finding a suitable patch of ground to lay his bedroll out on later. He finished eating and set his empty bowl aside, able to feel any lingering anger and frustration slide off of him, the crackle of the fire and the open sky above him lulling him halfway to sleep. It was only when Stroud finished cleaning up after them and took a seat beside him that he managed to muster up the energy to speak again.</p><p>"I thought you were supposed to be in Ostwick."</p><p>Stroud was quiet for a long moment. "I heard there might be darkspawn in the area. I thought it my duty to take care of them first."</p><p>"Lucky for me your duty brought you here, isn't it?" Carver turned to look at him, slightly thrown off by how much closer he was than before. "One more day eating rations or deep mushrooms and I might have gone completely batty."</p><p>“I'd say it's lucky for all of us,” Stroud said, voice soft. “The world would be a poorer place without you.”</p><p>"Right, we wouldn't want that." Carver started to laugh, then caught Stroud's expression, thoughtful and a bit too serious for the current conversation. He cleared his throat, blaming his exhaustion and the fact that he'd gone a month without seeing the sky for the sudden tightness in his throat. "You don't need to flatter me, you know."</p><p>"I don't believe I've ever said anything to you that was complimentary and wasn't also true." </p><p>"I know that's a bloody lie." Carver frowned and tried to ignore the burst of nostalgia that sitting here like this gave him. He missed it, sometimes, his early days in the Wardens when he'd spent all of his time traveling with Stroud; he'd been too young and angry and headstrong to fully appreciate it at the time, but he couldn't help but think how different it would be now, having one person he could expect to always be beside him. "I'm fairly certain you told me once that I wasn't unpleasant to be around."</p><p>"I've never found you unpleasant."</p><p>"How? You knew me when I was twenty. And we both know I was a stubborn wanker when I was twenty," Carver said, voice thick with disbelief. He couldn't quite manage to keep his smile at bay. "Still am, really."</p><p>Stroud shook his head, smiling faintly back at him. "You're not the man you were at twenty, but I didn't find you unpleasant then, either."</p><p>"I think you've spent too much time surrounded by darkspawn." </p><p>"You’re correct about that, at least."</p><p>"Well, you're not the only one." Carver turned his attention back to the fire, a lazy, comfortable warmth growing inside him. </p><p>Beside him, Stroud was a silent, steady presence. They were sitting close enough that Carver could have leaned against him if he'd wanted, trusted him to keep him from falling. It wasn't exactly a new feeling, this longing that he’d spent years ignoring in the desperate hope that it would someday vanish. Normally, it was an easy enough task, but the memory of being trapped alone in that thaig contrasted with the quiet surety of Stroud beside him made him want to be bold.</p><p>He could feel a dangerous sort of honesty building inside of him the longer he sat there, watching the way the light from the fire glinted off the toe of Stroud's boot. He shifted awkwardly against his seat, turning to Stroud with the vague intention of asking him a question to break the silence and distract him from his own thoughts, only to find Stroud watching him. Whatever half-formed thing he'd been planning to say died in his throat and he did the one thing that seemed to make sense in that moment, and leaned over to kiss him.</p><p>For a brief moment, it was perfect. Warm and comfortable and welcoming, that feeling of returning home after a long journey that he hadn’t felt in years. He closed his eyes, basking in it until reality caught up to him and he realized what an idiotic thing he’d just done.</p><p>He made a soft, slightly horrified sound and pulled away, the lazy comfort he’d felt a moment before replaced with panic. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” he said, pressing a hand to the back of his mouth, like he thought that would somehow hide the evidence. “Shit.”</p><p>"Carver," Stroud said, the word a gentle admonishment. </p><p>Carver met his eyes reluctantly, readying himself for a polite let down, some sort of brief but understanding lecture about all the reasons why this was a terrible idea. It wasn't the way Carver had hoped to spend his evening—or any evening, for that matter—but it was as much as he deserved, so he told himself he was willing to accept it. It would be awkward for an evening, maybe a few if they traveled together after this, but Stroud wasn’t the type to let it linger beyond that. </p><p>Carver could be okay with things going back to the way they’d always been; he didn’t need to force any unnecessary changes.</p><p>A moment passed and Stroud didn’t lecture him. He didn’t let him down gently. He didn’t tell him that it was a terrible idea, or do anything except watch Carver, his expression thoughtful and maybe even a little surprised.</p><p>Then, when it looked like he might finally say something, he cupped Carver’s face in his hands and leaned in, pressing his mouth back against Carver’s in a second kiss.</p><p>All of Carver’s silent reassurances to himself continued to swirl around inside his head, telling him that it was fine, it was okay, he didn’t need things to change and there was nothing to be disappointed about. They butted against each other, crowding out all other thoughts until the realization that <i>Stroud was kissing him</i> forced them out of the way.</p><p>He moaned quietly at the thought, uncertain and pleased, and leaned into the kiss. His hands rose to clutch at Stroud's shoulders, fingers scrabbling to find purchase on his pauldrons. He wasn't sure if he was trying to hold one or both of them steady or if he just needed to give his hands something to do besides flail uselessly at his sides, but Stroud chose that moment to put a hand on his waist to pull him closer and Carver stopped caring about anything that wasn't kissing him back.</p><p>Stroud made a sound of approval, the same sort of low hum that he used when Carver managed a particularly impressive move while sparring. Carver felt himself respond to it, an ache building inside of him as he slid closer; he tried to drape his leg over Stroud's, needing to get rid of what little distance remained between them, but their armor got in the way. The rough scrape of metal against metal, high-pitched and unpleasant, was enough to make him finally pull away. </p><p>"Bloody armor," he breathed, staring down at his greaves like they'd personally offended him. They were splattered with mud from the journey from Kirkwall, and he wished he'd had the foresight to remove them and every other piece of armor that he was wearing before he’d started this. </p><p>"You know that there is an easy solution to this problem."</p><p>Carver glared at him half-heartedly. "It's still a nuisance."</p><p>Stroud laughed, low and genuine, and reached down, fingers brushing the back of Carver’s knee as started to unbuckle one of his greaves, removing it and then moving on to the other one. Carver let him, breath catching each time Stroud’s fingers brushed against his leg, a bit too often not to be on purpose. Even with the leather of his trousers between them, those light touches still lit up something inside of him, and it took his best effort not to squirm or beg or do something equally embarrassing. </p><p>“There,” Stroud said, laying both pieces on the ground, just out of the way of their feet. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”</p><p>Carver ignored the question and scowled at him instead. "The last time I left a piece of my armor lying on the ground you lectured me for ten minutes."</p><p>"I can take the time to clean and store it properly, if you'd prefer."</p><p>"No need to go that far," Carver said, pulling off his gauntlets and tossing them onto the ground next to his greaves, then using his newly bared hands to fumble at the buckle on Stroud’s belt. </p><p>Stroud watched him with a faintly amused look, shifting a little when Carver finally managed to work his belt open, letting it and his tassets drop with a soft clunk. “I hope there aren’t any bandits in the area.”</p><p>“Sod the bandits.” Carver reached for one of the buckles on Stroud’s chest plate, thinking that he’d never been so resentful of the number of straps and buckles on a suit of armor before, and leaned in for another kiss. It was nearly impossible to do both properly at once, but he was too stubborn to stop trying. </p><p>Stroud let him, pulling away when the sounds Carver made started to get more frustrated than pleased. He pulled Carver’s hands away, pressing a kiss against each palm in a move that Carver would deny until his dying day made him feel at all weak in the knees, and then set about stripping himself of his armor, piece by piece. Once he was down to only his tabard, he reached for Carver to do the same for him. Part of Carver wanted to be resentful of how easy he made it look, but he’d given up on being resentful of Stroud making something look easier than it should have years ago.</p><p>Instead, he decided to do what he could to make it harder for him, leaning in to kiss Stroud’s neck and sliding a hand beneath the back of his tabard, working his fingers beneath his undershirt to press against bare skin. Stroud made a slightly disapproving sound, clearly aware of what Carver was doing, his hands faltering briefly before they resumed their task. </p><p>When they were down to nothing but their matching tabards, Carver straddled Stroud’s hips, one hand pressed against his back and the other braced on the log beneath them. He moved in for another kiss, deciding that he didn’t mind the tabards staying a bit longer if it meant he could enjoy the feel of Stroud’s mouth against his own. Judging by the way Stroud was kissing him back, his fingers clutching at Carver’s hips, he seemed to be of the same mind.</p><p>Carver groaned appreciatively and let the kiss drag out, giving himself time to enjoy each of the tiny, separate sensations that made up the greater whole—the firm heat of Stroud’s mouth, the insistent way is tongue pushed into his mouth, the occasional careful scrape of teeth against his lower lip, the faint tickle of his moustache against Carver’s cheeks. Carver was surprised by just how much he liked that last one; he pulled away with a sigh, thumb running along Stroud’s moustache, across his upper lip and down one cheek.</p><p>“I like this,” he said, thumb sliding over to press briefly against Stroud’s lower lip before moving back to his upper one. </p><p>“Do you?” Stroud said, giving him a dangerous look. Carver had a moment to think that he’d seen that look before, aimed at him across the practice field before Stroud thoroughly trounced him, and then he was on his back in the dirt with Stroud hovering above him, one hand cradled behind Carver’s head and the other resting against the ground beside them. “Perhaps we should find out just how much you like it.”</p><p>Carver swallowed, eyes wide and his cock achingly hard. He wanted to say something witty of his own, force Stroud to feel the same sharp surge of want, but all he could manage was an incoherent plea as he arched up against him. It might have bothered him, being at such a disadvantage, if it was another time or another place or if Stroud was with someone else, but the look Stroud gave him as he started to slide down the length of his body made him stop caring.</p><p>Stroud pushed Carver’s tabard and undershirt up with one hand and used the other to balance himself above him as he leaned down, trailing light kissing up his stomach and then back down again, working his way over to one side and then along his hip. Carver gasped quietly at the sensation, the soft brush of hair that came with each kiss leaving behind a faint buzzing beneath his skin, a teasing promise of things to come. He buried a hand in Stroud’s hair, fingers pressing against his scalp as Stroud mouthed at the laces of his trousers and then started to kiss his way back up his stomach. </p><p>Never one for patience, Carver moved his free hand down to fumble with the front of his trousers, the feel of the leather pressing against his cock almost unbearable. Stroud noticed what he was doing and pulled back with a soft huff.</p><p>“If you can laugh, you can help.” Carver gave up on his laces and started to push at his waistband, thinking he could manage it this way if he just tried hard enough.</p><p>Stroud watched him for a moment, his smile fond, and then finally took pity on him and tugged at his laces, giving Carver an expectant look.</p><p>Carver wasted no time sliding a hand inside, fingers fumbling briefly with his smalls before he managed to grab his cock and pulled it free, groaning in relief at the cool air against his overheated skin as he started to stroke himself. “Thank the Maker.”</p><p>“I think this one is all your doing,” Stroud said, watching as Carver worked himself in his fist. Carver could feel his breath against the tip of his cock and he angled it toward him, thinking he might actually die if he didn’t feel that mouth around him soon.</p><p>Stroud, always obliging, leaned down, pressing a kiss against Carver’s knuckles, and then one against his fingers, and then finally against the side of his cock as Carver slid his hand down to grip his base, holding himself ready.</p><p>“Stroud, <i>please</i>.”</p><p>Stroud closed his mouth over the tip of Carver’s cock, lowering himself slowly—too bloody slowly, if you asked Carver—until Carver could feel the hairs of his moustache tickling the backs of his fingers. He started to pull his hand away, but Stroud covered it with his own, keeping it there and guiding its movements as he started to bob his head, showing Carver how he wanted him to stroke his own spit-slicked cock.</p><p>He lifted his head slightly too watch, the sight of Stroud’s mouth around him almost enough to finish him right there. Forget darkspawn and the Deep Roads and the Calling, Carver knew that this was how he was going to die, lying on his back in the dirt with Stroud sucking his life out through his cock. All things considered, it wouldn’t have been a bad death.</p><p>He reached out, running his hand over Stroud’s hair, resisting the urge to tangle it in his fingers and pull him down, push himself further into that warm heat. Stroud’s eyes lifted to meet his, a spark of knowing in them that said he knew exactly what he was thinking, and Carver groaned.</p><p>“I’m…oh,” he said, all he could manage before he let his head fall back against the dirt, back arching as he spilled down Stroud’s throat. He mumbled something that was meant to be an apology and sounded more like a plea for more, his heels digging into the grass.</p><p>Stroud kept his mouth around him until it was almost too much, working him through the worst of his shuddering, stopping when Carver’s moans started to sound more pained than pleased. He pulled off Carver with a soft sigh and laid another kiss against his stomach. </p><p>Carver squeezed the back of his neck in silent appreciation, staring up at the sky above them as he tried to catch his breath. </p><p>“I’d ask you to fuck me, but I don’t think I could manage to do more than lie here,” Carver said, fingers rubbing absently against Stroud’s skin.</p><p>“Next time,” Stroud said. He pulled his tabard over his head and dropped it into the dirt beside Carver’s thigh, then climbed back up the length of Carver’s body to press his mouth against his neck. “For now, this is enough.”</p><p>Carver ignored the flutter in his chest at those words and turned his head to the side to make room for him, one hand sliding between them to cup the front of Stroud’s trousers. “Get your cock out.” </p><p>“Romantic.” Stroud half-laughed, half-groaned, but did as he asked, unlacing his trousers and pulling himself free. Carver wasted no time wrapping a hand around him, enjoying the the softness of his skin and the heavy way he sat against his palm as he jerked him, fast and rough and full of purpose.</p><p>Stroud groaned, his eyes falling shut and his hips carefully still, his entire body unmoving as he hovered above Carver.</p><p>“Too much?” Carver asked, gentling his grip a little. </p><p>“No. Keep going,” Stroud said, a blissful look on his face as Carver tightened his hand around him. He seemed content to just enjoy Carver’s touch, hips only moving when it got to be too much, pushing forward into Carver’s touch before they stilled again. When he finished, it was with a shudder and a soft sigh as he came against Carver’s stomach.</p><p>Carver kept his eyes locked on his face as he worked him through it, stopping when the corners of Stroud’s mouth tightened and his cock started to go soft in Carver’s hand. Carver let go of him reluctantly, resting his fingers in the mess on his stomach, and waited for Stroud to open his eyes.</p><p>When he did, he offered Carver a tired, contented smile and laid down beside him, half on his side and turned slightly toward him, his hand resting lightly against Carver’s chest. Carver laid there and stared up at the sky stretching out above them, thinking he’d never been more tired or more happy in his life. </p><p>“If this is what happens when I almost die in the Deep Roads, I may have to spend more time down there.”</p><p>Stroud’s fingers twitched against his chest. “I think we can work out an arrangement that doesn’t require any brushes with death.” </p><p>“Yeah?” Carver said, trying to temper the hope in his voice. “Because I have a lot of brushes with death.”</p><p>“Yes,” Stroud said, turning Carver’s face toward him and leaning in to seal the promise with a kiss. </p><p>“I guess that works, too,” Carver said. He decided he was glad that the camp hadn’t been empty when he’d arrived, after all.</p>
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